


What we've lost

by omgbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anger, Canonical Character Death, Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Grounder Culture, Lost Love, Love, Pregnancy, Relationship(s), Revenge, Siblings, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6631561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbellamy/pseuds/omgbellamy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Octavia Blake reflects on the events of the past few weeks. Octavia talks to Bellamy about it and reflects on where the hell their relationship went wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What we've lost

**Author's Note:**

> This is my take on 3x11, from Octavia's point of view. Spoilers will be ahead so do not read if you dislike spoilers. Also, the major event of this fic is just something that I think would be an interesting twist, not what is canon in the show. From Octavia's point of view only.

Octavia wanted to scream. She wanted to clench her fists, to hit something, to cry out until her face was all red and her eyes hurt from crying. She wanted to feel something. She wanted to mourn Lincoln, she didn’t want to stay composed. As the group were making their way back to Arcadia she had seen it.  
Lincoln’s blood.

It was dried up in the murky dirt where he had been executed. Octavia’s rage was fueled. She swore she was going to get revenge on Pike and every guard who had held Lincoln there that day. She wanted to do dark, dark things to satisfy her thirst for revenge. Clarke had told her – Clarke of all people – had told her it wasn’t worth it. But she didn’t know, did she? Octavia had heard Clarke had lost Lexa, as it was evident by her reaction the metal chip when she saw it. Lexa was dead and now Skaikru was at risk. Octavia had said they survive together, but over the past two days something had changed.

Octavia discovered she was pregnant.

Her heart had wrenched at the tragic realization. It really did seem like a story from that play that Bell had read her as a child – Romeo and Juliet – only Octavia hadn’t literally died but she was dead inside. She hadn’t thought about the terrifying realization that she was pregnant. She was sure she was. She’d been feeling very nauseous over the past few days to the point where she’d passed out in the Rover and taken long naps as the Rover drove. Bellamy had tried to hover over her, asking her if she was okay, insisting that she take it easy. She had told him to fuck off and mind his own damn business because she couldn’t look at him the same way. Not anymore.

She hadn’t necessarily meant it. That he was dead to her. She had meant when she said that they – as a group – survive together. But she didn’t want much to do with her brother anymore. She would tolerate him for the sake of the rest of their crew, but she would not have a relationship with him like before. What was left of their relationship had been destroyed and turned into dust after she had hit him. It was the final straw for Octavia and though she did regret it, she also didn’t. It was about time that he had seen sense, she thought. And she had showed him that.

But she didn't know if her pregnancy would change her mind.

Octavia’s thoughts drifted to the uncertain fate of her child or possible child. She was sure she was pregnant. She had missed her date, and as the unwanted second child, Octavia had never had the implant put in that the Ark provided to stop reproduction after one child for popularity control. Her risk of pregnancy was far higher than any other girls in Arcadia, who were all most likely to still have the implant. 

She briefly wondered how the hell could she be a mother. She started breathing heavily, feeling a panic attack coming on of everything she would have to worry about as a mother. She would have to raise a baby in the post-apocalyptic Earth with Grounders who hated Skaikru and wanted them dead, a blood-thirsty, ruthless Commander who was going to kill them, internal conflict within Arcadia and the danger of having enough supplies and amenities to satisfy a small baby. And then there was the hard fact of raising her baby as a single teenage parent without its father.

She also wondered whether the child – her child – would look like Lincoln. Would her baby have Lincoln’s soft brown eyes that embodied peace, would her child have a mixture of her own light skin and his darker one. Would her child have luscious dark hair as her own, or her own green-blue eyes. Would her child have her qualities of strength and bravery or her sarcasm, or would her child have Lincoln’s warrior spirit, his good-nature and his passion for fighting for justice. She knew. Just knew that her and Lincoln’s child would be God’s gift to herself and Lincoln, wherever he was now.

But then at the same time, she thought having her own child was going to be more of a curse than a blessing. This world was dark and full of conflict and murder with blood stained on everybody’s hands in the fight to come out on top on Earth. She thought of her mother who had neglected her. She had remained nonexistent hiding in their storage unit in their flat, as Bellamy had instructed her to do as a young child. He was trying to protect her. Her mother would just sit there wistfully most of the time and sigh as the guards would enter. Her mother didn’t want her. Her mother resented her birth since the moment she had conceived. Even six-year-old Octavia could see it; see the conviction in her mother’s own dark eyes every time she looked at her. Octavia wasn’t even sure if she ever loved her daughter, so how could Octavia love a child at of her own considering her own upbringing?

Octavia’s own existence was accidental, as was her child’s. But the difference was Octavia wanted her child. Even if she was told by everyone and screamed at that she wasn’t ready, that she was being foolish or making a mistake, it didn’t deter her. She longed to feel something other than the empty void in her chest every time she breathed. This child was her only piece left of Lincoln. Her only physical resemblance of what he represented, of what he and Octavia shared. The rest was a distant memory.

She wanted to. She wanted to bring her child into a world of peace and serenity, a permanent home. She wanted to give her child what she had never had – the unconditional love of a mother. She could picture it, almost. In a year or two from now, sitting in a bamboo-built hut in the heat of summer with her toddler tucked up in a makeshift cot, looking to her. She would tell her child stories of how Lincoln Com Trikru was a valiant warrior. She would tell them stories of their past adventures of hunting the Mountain Men and freeing their people like heroes. She would tell them how she had first met Lincoln when he had carried her to his sacred cave and treated her wound when she had fell gallivanting foolishly in the forest. She would tell her child of the unconditional love that they shared and one day, when they were old enough, how Lincoln had died fighting for justice.

She could picture it perfectly in her own head. It was her fears of her child being exposed to the harshness of the post-apocalyptic world. All of the murder, and the destruction, losing people you loved. Octavia had been torn apart by Earth. Her life on the Ark had been shitty as well, hiding her existence for most of it. And down here she was given a chance to live. The beginning was an adventure for Octavia, she remembered. The glowing forest with its butterflies, the cold embrace of the lake, the damp touch of the rain that seemed to fall from the heavens of the sky. But now...everything had changed. Octavia had become a warrior by Indra’s side. She had learned how to fight and kept Lincoln’s sword that he had given to her, fighting for justice as she had known he wanted her to. She had learned about the customs of the Grounders and became her own savior. She didn’t rely on anybody else anymore to save her or to fight her battles. She was Octavia Blake, a warrior.

She looked over to Bellamy who stood further away, face paling at the sight of the blood on the floor. She didn’t know whether he knew who’s blood it had belong to, but she saw by the look on his face that it haunted him. Good, she thought. It should. Octavia could not help in partly blaming Bellamy for Lincoln’s death. It was he in the first place who had helped to get them arrested – Kane, Pike, Sinclair and the others. It was not her fault she couldn’t trust him after that. They had gone after Lincoln and he had offered his ‘help’, but Octavia couldn’t believe him. Not after he trusted Pike and massacred the innocent Grounders.

Now Octavia wasn’t sure where they stood. Their relationship was almost dead which broke Octavia’s own heart. She never thought to herself she would be at odds with her big brother. Not like this. The furthest point she had ever hoped to fight with her brother was about what kind of clothes she was wearing or what kind of boy she was seeing, that kind of thing. Not about a life or death situation. Not about the mass killing of innocent people. Not blaming her brother for the love of her life’s death because he was hurt and he impulsively lashed out.

But on the one hand, Octavia felt bad. She could see the scratches and bruises she had left on his face where she had beaten him. One part of her said he deserved it for what he had a part in with Pike and betraying his long-time friends. Another said that she shouldn’t have done that – that he was not the one who executed her boyfriend and left him to bleed out in a puddle. That he was her brother, her big brother, and that he had tried to help save Lincoln. That he had done the right thing in the end, grabbing Pike’s gun and turning him in, even if that couldn’t avenge all the innocent lives he had taken.

But Octavia had nobody now. Nobody who truly understood her the way Lincoln did. She couldn’t raise a child alone if her child was to have any decent chance at survival. And that’s where she felt she would need Bellamy. Despite all his wrong-doings and misjudgments, he was good at surviving. He had helped to keep the 100 alive in the beginning part of their time on Earth. She thought if he knew she was pregnant, maybe he would understand. Maybe he would try to become that good person he once was with her. A protector of her and now her child. Maybe she was thinking wishfully, but she never could quite let go of her brother. 

So she decided she would tell him.

Once inside, once she had collected Lincoln’s things and screamed and cried and got all her tears out, she went to find him.  
He was sitting on a crate in the canteen area of Arcadia. Clarke stood nearby, rooting around for rations. They needed them considering they had traveled pretty far to get back to Arcadia now. It was deserted. The place once filled with Arcadians had been emptied by Allie, according to Jasper and Clarke. 

“Bellamy,” Octavia called, stopping with her hands on her hips in front of him.

Bellamy looked up, surprised. “Octavia, are you okay?” He asked, sounding very concerned.

No, she wanted to scream, my boyfriend is dead, I don’t belong anywhere and I can’t even trust my own brother anymore. “Not important. I need to talk to you.”

“What is it?” Bellamy looked uncertain. He didn’t know where he stood with Octavia these days. They hadn’t talked properly since before she had beaten him. They hadn’t talked about that either. What was there to say? They were both broken.

“Bellamy, I’m pregnant,” Octavia said in a blunt voice. Bellamy caught the pained edge in it, too.

Bellamy’s face slowly transformed into one of surprise and sympathy. His eyes softened.

“O-”

“Don’t,” she said harshly, holding up a hand to stop him. He couldn't comfort her, not now.

“Octavia, what – what – what are you going to do?” he asked. His voice was uneasy, she saw. She was the same. The thought of being a mother scared the shit out of her.

“I’m going to have the baby,” Octavia announced. “I don’t really have much of a choice down here. It’s live or die. And I’m not comfortable with killing my own baby.” 

Bellamy nodded. “How far along?” he asked.

“About a month, I think,” Octavia said. 

Bellamy nodded. He watched his sister. She was rigid and cold but Bellamy could see that was a facade. On the inside, his baby sister was breaking and crumbling – she already had. He had remembered the words she’d said about how “a warrior does not mourn the dead until the war is won”, which he saw Octavia was determined to win. She wanted to avenge the dead of the innocents he had killed, and Lincoln too. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” Octavia hissed, “Got it? I can’t have them thinking I’m weak and coddling me because I’m caring a child. OK?”

Bellamy nodded. “But O, you can’t be a warrior while you’re pregnant. You have to take care of yourself and—”

“You don’t get to decide that, Bellamy. I’m only telling you so you can keep your mouth shut. If anyone asks and I get sick, you cover for me. It’s the least you can do.”

It’s the unspoken words on her tongue that pained Bellamy: it’s the least you can do since you killed 300 innocent soldiers sent to protect us and partially got my boyfriend killed. 

He hated how things had ended up this way. Now Octavia being so vulnerable and carrying a life form of her own in her young body. She hadn’t told him because she trusted him. She had told him because she wanted him to keep his mouth shut. After all, he would be the first one to notice and ask if something was wrong with Octavia. He might have been dead to her, but she knew he still cared about her. He would never stop.

“Okay, O.”

Octavia gave him a head nod and continued to walk off back towards where Lincoln’s room was. She wasn’t going to head back in there since she had already cleared it out, but she wanted to see it once for the last time just for some kind of finality. 

She stopped outside and stared at the empty grey room. Now it was completely empty, only left with the makeshift bed that they had shared and cuddled in, the desk where Lincoln would work by making plans and writing down notes to remember things. The shelf where their weapons would be kept, with Lincoln’s sword taking pride of place, and where Lincoln’s journal would be kept, where she would occasionally see him writing in or sketching. She clutched it to her chest as she held the book in hand. All of the paintings on the walls had been taken down beforehand. By Pike and his guards, she had suspected. They had taken every ounce of life from the room that had meant so much to the two of them. 

Now all that was left to do was to give Lincoln and Sinclair the burials they deserved.


End file.
